Stay With Me
by I am hurricane
Summary: Her dad thrashes his head wildly, and manages to loose the gag from his mouth, spitting the fabric from his lips he shouts desperately. "RUN MALIA! GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE!" Malia raises her chin ignoring the desert wolf and looks into her dad's pleading eyes. "It's O.K. Daddy," she says bravely. "It's all gonna be O.K."
1. Reach Out and Knock

Teaser:

Her heartbeat throbs too quickly in her own ears, like a scared rabbit's. _She's acting like prey,_ Malia scolds herself. There are only a handful of things that she's actually afraid of, and what she's about to do next is probably the worst of them. Rubbing her sweaty palms on the fringes of her cut off jeans, she takes a steadying breath, reaches out and…knocks.

There's a muffled voice that comes from inside, and the thump of footsteps before the dorm room door swings open.

Stiles stiffens for a second, his eyebrows flying upward in surprise before he's reaching out and hauling her into his arms. "Malia! When did you—I didn't know you were coming." Malia wraps her arms around him and hugs him back just as fiercely.

She knows he's dating someone else, but this is probably that last time she's ever going to see him, so she's going to hold onto him as tight as she can, for as long as she can.

She breathes in his comforting scent and revels in the warmth and weight of his arms around her. This is the first time in the last twenty-four hours that her stomach hasn't been in knots. For just a moment she can forget that the desert wolf has her dad hostage, and that she's only hours away from trading her life to set him free. So she sinks into the hug, safe for just a moment longer in the arms of her first real friend and the only boy she's ever loved.


	2. It Matters

Eventually she forces herself to lean away, her hands sliding down off his shoulders. Stiles grins down at her, his hands still settled on her back. He looks good, his hair is a touch longer now, falling just over his eyebrows, and he's put on a few more pounds of muscle, since she last saw him five months ago. As she takes him in, she can't help admitting that the pre-F.B.I. program definitely looks good on him.

"C'mon in." he says, ushering her inside his small dorm room. "When did you get to D.C.?"

Malia's eyes dart to her phone, and she sees the time. _Three hours until her deadline._ She swallows down the lump in her throat. "About an hour ago." She admits.

Stiles cocks his head to the side at her tone, his eyes squinting slightly like they always do when he's reading her. Malia tenses, expecting him to call her on it. Dread fills her stomach, she has no idea what to say to him if he presses her. But for whatever reason he lets it go, and she's nearly sighs in relief.

He shoves his hands in his pockets and gives her a shy smile. "It's really good to see you, Mal."

Malia's heart melts a little. He was just so damn disarming.

"You too," she fumbles. "I mean you know besides through my phone screen."

The corner of his mouth quirks up at that. "Yeah, but y'know how much I appreciate you trying to figure out Skype for me."

Her mouth twists, "Its not my fault this phone is so outdated its practically a brick."

"I've showed you like a thousand times how to update it." He teases, his eyes laughing at her. Its so easy to fall into this old banter with him. She's never had much patience with technology and for as long as she's had a cellphone she's either been losing it or accidentally locking herself out of it. Much to Stiles' amusement. Fixing her phone was one of the few boyfriend-ly "duties" that he'd always insisted on doing for her.

"But seriously," he says gruffly, clearing his throat. "It, uh, it means a lot that you, y'know, that _we_ still talk." He says, rubbing at the back of his neck.

Malia shrugs her shoulders, slipping her hands into her jacket pockets. "Yeah, well, we made each other a promise, right?"

"Yeah," he says softly, "I guess we did." He stares at her a long moment, his eyes, deep and so completely unguarded, that she's unable to look away. The tension breaks when Stiles drops his eyes and gestures deeper into the room. "Sorry about the mess," says, lamely. "Can I get you something to drink?"

There's a pang of longing in her chest, "No, I-uh, I can only stay for a few minutes," she admits pointing her eyes at the ground.

Stiles runs a hand through his hair, "But you just got here." He says, sounding wounded.

Malia swallows the lump in her throat, "There's something, there's something that I've got to go do." she admits lifting her eyes up from the floor.

"O.K." He says, slowly. Then there's a flash of concern in his eyes. "Well, do you need my help? Are you in some kind of trouble?" He's always been so good at seeing right through her, and right now the look in those big brown eyes of his is threatening to completely unravel her.

"No, I'm fine. I just, I really needed to talk to you."

He tilts his head, "About what?"

Malia takes a steadying breath,"Last year, when you told me how you felt about me and I never said anything," she forces out. "There's a lot of reasons why I didn't say it back, but not loving you was never one of them." She says, lifting her eyes to meet his. "I just wanted you to know that."

He's still for a very long moment before he breathes out, "And what about now?"

"What do you mean?"

"You just told me that you were in love with me a year ago. How do you feel about me now?"

"Stiles, It doesn't matter. I'm not trying to start something, I know you're with Lydia."

Stiles shakes his head, stepping into her space, "It matters," he insists.

Her mouth goes dry as she stares into his searching eyes, "I still do," she admits. "I still love you."

Stiles just stares at her, his lips parted, his breathing ragged, her words dangling in the air between them. Then before she can even register the movement he's catching her face in his hands and he's kissing her like he's never wanted anything more.


	3. Crash Into You

Malia is caught off guard by the kiss, her lips parting in surprise as she stumbles back half a step. Stiles moves with her, his mouth never leaving hers as he crowds her up against the door. She turns her head, trying to break the kiss and talk to him, but Stiles is convincing. He kisses her deeply, his mouth slanting against hers, his tongue stroking hers, enticingly slow. Malia can't help herself, she sinks back against the door and kisses him back, her hands sliding up to grip his sides.

She has probably kissed him and been kissed by him over a thousand times. So at this point, she would have considered herself somewhat of an expert on kissing Stiles Stilinski. But he had never kissed her with this sort of desperation before, and it was utterly intoxicating. She curls her fingers in the fabric of his shirt on his sides and rises up on her toes, struggling to matching his intensity.

Stiles pulls away a fraction of an inch, panting hotly against her lips, his nose sliding along hers, reluctant to part. She sucks in an eager breath, her eyes snapping open, looking at him with wide surprised eyes. He stares back at her, his eyes dark and deep, without a hint of regret in them. His hand cups the nape of her neck, and his thumb slides back and forth along the sensitive skin beneath her ear. Her eyes fall closed, lulled by his touch, she blinks once, twice then leans away from his hand. Her thoughts are scattered, her mind muddled by his proximity and when she tries to speak her tongue feels fuzzy.

Stiles doesn't give her much of an opportunity to recover the use of her tongue before he's kissing her again. She's slipping again, easily letting him carry her away. Somewhere, deep down in places she never shares with anyone she had admitted to herself that she'd missed him, missed this. But she doesn't think she'd ever acknowledged how much, until right now when she's wrapped up in his arms.

Half formulated thoughts flit across the back of her eyes, and briefly disquiet her bliss at the feels of his hands and mouth. There is a brief stab of _Lydia!_ But that thought is brushed off by the slow drag of his hand along her thigh. Then there is a half-hearted flash of the day of their breakup, _he's the one that walked away,_ her mind accused. But that thought fell away as Stiles groans low in his throat and presses her more firmly up against the door. She is finally jarred from the hot press of his lips by the image of her father, bloodied and tied up in the basement of some grungy warehouse. _Dad!_

Malia turns her face away from him, breaking the kiss. Stiles dips his head into the crook of neck and drags his lips along the length of her throat.

She shakes her head, "St—Stiles, I ha-have t-to go." She pants out shakily, pressing the heels of her hands to his shoulders. Stiles pulls back to look at her, blinking dazedly. He swallows thickly, his eyes clearing, his shoulders sinking as he remembers himself. He takes a step back from her and the door. Pushing him away was difficult, but the look of pain in his eyes is unbearable.

She hadn't meant for this to happen, he was supposed to be in love with Lydia. When she'd made that deal with the desert wolf and what was left of her life had become a ticking clock, she'd had one thought. She had driven all night to see him, to tell him what she had never be brave enough to say. She just needed him to know, she hadn't expected him to react like this. She knew he still cared about her, they were still friends and they always would be. But didn't think he still felt like this about her. She didn't know how she was supposed to walk away from him now. But she had to.

He was crestfallen, not meeting her eyes shoving his hands in his pockets. She tried to force words past her throat, something that would make him understand. But nothing comes.

Biting back tears, Malia spins toward the door and grabs the door handle, yanking it open.

"Don't go." He grits out, quietly. Malia clenches her eyes shut for a moment, her hand squeezing the door handle painfully tight. She turns to look at him. He lifts his eyes from the floor, to look at her, tears shimmering in his eyes. "Please," he pleads, as he takes a tentative step toward her. When she doesn't retreat he reaches out and gently cups her cheek, his thumb running soothingly against her jaw. Her mouth flutters as she tries to speak, but then he leans into her, pressing his forehead to hers, "Just stay…" he coaxes, in a breathy whisper, brushing his nose along hers, "Stay with me."


	4. Saint Jude Pray For Us

Malia wakes with a start, her heart hammering in her chest, a patchwork of nightmares flashing across the back of her eyes. Her ears ring with her father's agonized screams. She tries to sit up but she's weighted down by something. Blinking blearily in the half-light, she finds herself wrapped up in warmth with the heady smell of Stiles all around her.

She shifts under the blankets, rolling onto her side, toward the warm lump in the blankets. His face is pressed into the mattress as he sleeps, with one of his arms thrown over a pillow, and the other curled possessively around her. His unruly brown hair sticking up in all directions. Something warm and sappy, something she's only ever associated with him, swells in her chest.

Then her heart lurches as she remembers her deal. Her eyes dart to the digital clock on the microwave. _She'd lost two hours._ She's running out of time she needs to get all the way across town to the warehouse before its too late.

Stiles is breathing heavily so she carefully tries to slip out from beneath his arm. But just as she starts to move away, he shifts in his sleep, muttering nonsense into the mattress and tightening his hold on her, in protest.

Malia shushes him, carding her fingers through his soft brown hair, her nails lightly grazing his scalp. Stiles makes a low contented noise in the back of his throat, as he snuggles further into the mattress, his thumb sweeping sleepily along the skin of her waist. After a few minutes of the soft, soothing drag of her nails across his scalp, he's dead to the world. Certain that he's asleep, she nuzzles into his hair and kisses the crown of his head, softly. Then swallowing down the tightness in her throat, she carefully shifts out from under his arm and slips out of bed.

Malia gathers her things and dresses soundlessly as possible, as she carefully monitors his heart-rate. There's something bitter and metallic in her mouth as she turns to go. Tears prickling in the corner of her eyes, she gets about half-way to the window when she stops and turns around.

With a sniff she reaches up and unclasps her necklace, and pulls the chain off her neck, and feels the weight of it in her palm. It's just a tarnished old Saint Jude's medal, but it's the only thing she has left of her mother. Even though Malia doesn't like the constricting feel of jewelry, she's worn it every day since her dad had given it to her. She turns the metal over and runs her finger over the inscription. _Saint Jude Pray for Us._ Saint Jude is the patron saint of lost causes and hopeless cases.

She gently lays the necklace across the pillow near his arm. She gently runs her hand through his hair, one last time. _Take care of him for me Mom._

As she pulls away she spots a picture on his nightstand, that she hadn't noticed before. It's a shot of all them, the whole pack around the fire-pit in her backyard. Liam and Mason looked to be fighting over a single lawn chair because the picture caught them mid-shove. Kira was sitting sideways in Scott's lap, smiling giddily, with her cheek pressed against Lydia's. Scott had his free arm wrapped around Stiles' shoulders. Malia was crouched near the fire a look of delight in her eyes as she roasted a marshmallow. While Stiles was crowded behind her, a goofy look of panic in his eyes, as he obviously was trying to reel in her roasting stick and blow out the flaming marshmallow.

A watery smile tugs at her lips, "I never would've had any of this," she sniffs, her eyes darting to where Stiles slept. "I never would've even woken up, if it wasn't for you." She whispers, honestly.

Rubbing the back of her hand over her eyes, she turns away. A breeze rolls through the curtains of the open window, and sifts through the papers on his desk. A white and light blue plaid shirt hangs off the back of his chair. It's sleeves fluttering in the wind, kicking up the rich and heady scent of him. Snagging it off the back of the chair, she slips her arms into the sleeves and wraps herself up in it, tucking her face in the collar for a second. It'll give her strength to take a piece of him with her when she goes to face her demons.

She doesn't look back as she slips out his window and climbs down the fire escape, she won't let herself.

* * *

The warehouse reeks of rust, motor-oil and filth and though she is no coward, Malia's heart is beating frantically again. She curls her nails into the soft cuffs of Stiles' sleeves and takes a steadying breath, and pounds on the metal door. Lights flutter, humming with electricity and rusty cables whine in protest as the warehouse door wheels upward. She steps inside stiffly, her skin crawling and all of her instincts screaming in protest. The floor is rough and uneven, with scraps of metal strewn about, and puddles of mirky water. The ceiling has gaping holes, and there are several crows nested the rafters, their beady eyes watching her.

As she edges her way around a rusted out old truck, her nose twitches with a familiar smell and she stops in her tracks, gasping. Her dad is strung up by his arms, his legs dangling, his face bloodied and pale.

"Dad," she gasps and moves toward him. He lifts his head his eyes lighting with recognition, then panic. He shakes his head at her in warning, and he tries to yell something through his gag. Malia freezes and raises her hands slowly, sensing Corrine's presence behind her.

"I came alone," she says sharply to the vile creature as she slinks out of the shadows, coming up behind her.

Corrine laughs in her throat, "If you didn't he'd already be dead."

Her dad thrashes his head wildly, and manages to loose the gag from his mouth, spitting the fabric from his lips he shouts desperately.

"RUN MALIA! GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE!"

Malia raises her chin ignoring the desert wolf and looks into her dad's pleading eyes. "It's O.K. Daddy," she says bravely. "It's all gonna be O.K."

Corrine strikes her hard in the back of the head with something blunt, and her vision swims. She topples to her knees and then everything fades to blackness.

* * *

Stiles shifts under the warm heap of blankets, his arm reaching out to pull Malia closer. He lifts his head, blinking in confusion when he finds his bed empty. He squints around the room, finding nothing reassuring. He drags himself to the side of the bed and his heart sinks when he sees her clothes are gone from the floor. He flicks on the lamp switch and runs a hand down his face. A low miserable feeling settles in his chest, as he reaches down and starts pulling on his clothes. He grits his teeth, and tugs on his shoes a little too forcefully, as anger creeps up on him.

"To hell with this," He growls, "I'm gonna find that stubborn werecoyote, I'm gonna drag her ass back here and she's gonna to talk to me."

He grabs his keys off the nightstand and ducks down to switch off the light when he sees a glint of something on the bed. He cocks his head to the side and kneels onto the bed. Finding a necklace shimmering between the pillows. Pinching it between his thumb and forefinger he lifts it up to inspect it.

A queazy feeling settles in the pit of his stomach. "She never takes it off," he mutters to himself. Suddenly all of the little things that had been off about her, all her little tells started to fall into place. _She told me she loved me. "_ Why the hell would she do that? _"_ He wonders, aloud. _I never thought she'd say something like that unless she was—AH HELL—NO!NO!NO!_

Stiles dives for his cellphone, and falls off the edge of the bed. Hitting the speed dial he leaps to his feet and rubs at the back of his neck.

"C'mon—c'mon pick up," he orders, as his heart slams against his ribcage.

The call connects, "Stiles?"

"Scott! Please, tell me you know where Malia is and what she's doing?"


	5. Or He Dies

Stiles sits perched on the edge of his bed, wringing his hands, his knee bouncing unconsciously as he waits. His phone chimes beside him, and he flails to grab it, leaping off the bed to stand as he presses it to his ear.

"Took you long enough. What'd you find?" He demands as he starts pacing.

Static spits in his ear through the lousy connection and then he hears Scott sigh, "It's not good, Stiles." Stiles rakes a hand through his hair.

"How not good?—'Not good' you've got nothing?—Or 'not good' you've found something?"

"I just got off my bike, and I can already smell the blood," Scott tells him starkly. Stiles goes very still. _Why do I always have to be right?_ "Mr. Tate's truck is here. But I can't hear any heartbeats."

Stiles swallows down the lump in his throat. "There's a hide-a-key on a nail under the front porch—"

"Stiles," Scott says in a grave voice, "The door's been kicked in."

The skin at the back of Stiles' neck starts to prickle, and there's a sinking feeling in his stomach. He hears the creak of the loose hinges as Scott makes his way through the battered front door.

"What do you see?"

"Broken glass, chairs knocked over…"

"What? What is it."

"Claw marks. Slashes in the wallpaper. The blood is stronger now, but it's stale… a few days old I think."

"What else do you smell?"

"Mr. Tate…he was afraid. Someone else was here. I don't, I can't figure out their scent it's weird…there was a fight. It's his blood on the carpet."

"What about Malia? Can you smell her?"

Scott takes a moment as he parses through the scents, isolating chemo signals. "Yes, I've got her…" he can hear Scott as he shuffles through the house, following his nose.

"Her scent is stronger; she was the last one here…she was angry…afraid…Oh, Stiles, I think I know why."

"What? What'd you find?"

"The wall in her bedroom. There's a message carved into it. _'Come to me, or he dies. Try anything stupid and your boyfriend's next._ ' Stiles, that weird scent I couldn't place before? It's gotta be—

"The desert wolf," Stiles interjects, speaking his worst fear allowed, "She's back. And Malia's gonna walk right into her trap."

(Will be updated soon! I promise)


End file.
